


making music

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dany is a hot violin player, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jon Snow is a hot cello player, Music, Musicians, Orchestra, Romance, enemies-ish to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Classical violinist Daenerys Targaryen is one of many in a talented musical family, but she tries to make it on her own from them, on her own merits, her dream to perform perform with the Crownlands Symphony.  When she finally gets the opportunity, she encounters Jon Snow, a gifted musical prodigy with a mysterious past.  There's friction between them from the outset, and when a session of them making sweet music together goes viral, they may be forced to work together for the good of the symphony.They just have to get over how much they hate each other. Or…maybe…love each other?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 49
Kudos: 170





	making music

**Author's Note:**

> Hey it's still me, ha. I want to get this fic and a couple others that are pending out before I "escape." I teased this on Tumblr awhile ago and only way to finish it is to post it now! It wasn't supposed to be more than one chapter, but I'm at about 10K and still not quite done yet. 
> 
> This fic was also inspired by a conversation I was having with @youwerenevermine who is so patient when I start waxing poetic about potential fics, ha. 
> 
> Plus I love when 'modern' songs are played on classical instruments. I just played clarinet for a few years and was soooo bad at it and can only play a couple songs on the piano, so I am NO musician by any means. I live vicariously through these two, ha. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

* * *

"I hate my job, I hate my job, I hate my job."

"You love your job, you love your job, you love your job."

Dany dropped the coffee shop table chair she'd been tilting back on two legs, hands over her eyes, reciting her complaint mantra, and peeked through her fingers to her best friend, who was calmly adding sugar to her tea, stirring lazily as she provided the necessary guidance she required. She groaned, falling completely forward and hit her forehead onto her folded arms. "He's the worst!"

Missandei sipped her tea and made a face, setting it back down and picking up the creamer to continue doctoring it. "He's a pissant child with a bitch mother who thinks he's the greatest thing to walk this earth, don’t you like the other two?"

She looked up, nodding, focusing on that. "Yes, Myrcella and Tommen are sweet and actually listen and don't try to hit on me." She shivered; Joffrey was a demon seed. He was horrible, pulled wings off butterflies type of kid and at sixteen he was abominable. He'd tried to come on to her multiple times during his piano lessons and despite her suggesting to Cersei there be someone else present in the room, she never balked, saying her Joffrey was perfect. Dany needed to nip it in the bud and fast, but she needed the money.

It wasn't like someone fresh out of The Daenys School, the premier performing arts college in all of Westeros could just start as concertmaster in the Crownlands Symphony. It was a dream, of course, to be concertmaster with the greatest symphony in all the known world, but she had to work her way to it. Starting first with a bloody audition for a studio orchestra position with Casterly Productions, the production studio headed by the Lannister family, as in Cersei Lannister, as in her current boss, as in she needed to not piss her off.

If she got into the studio orchestra, she could get the experience under her belt she needed to get an audition for a season position somewhere else. Perhaps the Highgarden Symphony. It was serviceable, decent. Their conductor wasn't horrible. Gods forbid she had to go north, to the screeching tones of the Winterfell Orchestra. She might as well just become a full-time music teacher, Winterfell was the worst, and she would be shivering while trying to play, her violin bow shaking on every pull across the strings.

Dany sipped her coffee, needing the boost of caffeine. She was shaking out of nerves, which hit her just before big auditions. She'd overcome them soon enough, she just had to get through. "I can do this," she said loudly.

"Yes, you can." Missandei was one to talk. She had graduated with Dany with a degree in musical theater and was already in the chorus of a hit production on Roseway, the famous theater district in Kings Landing. She would be starring in her own show within a year, Dany bet, as her best friend was the best singer the world had seen.

Meanwhile, Dany was scrimping by doing piano and violin lessons for rich kids, whose parents only wanted them to learn so they had something to add to their transcripts or give them an edge in competition for the best private schools. She had to pull strings she _never_ wanted to pull just to get the Lannister kids on her resume. She was so grateful for this audition, just for a studio position.

Missandei smiled warmly at her, patting her hand. "You will knock this out. I have faith."

"Thanks." She laughed, pushing her fingers through her silver curls, sending them scattering. She'd need to redo her braids before her audition so they wouldn't be in her face when she played. She checked her watch, exhaling hard. "Alright, I should go. Gotta' get across town to the Dragonpit."

"Good luck, you don't need it, but you have it."

Dany grinned, jumping to her feet and slinging her violin case over her shoulder, the straps digging in tightly. it was her prized possession; she would rather have someone cut it off her dead body before she ever gave it up. She was about to kiss Missandei's cheek in farewell, when her phone rang shrilling on the table. She glanced at the name, half-tempted to ignore it, and shrugged. Maybe he was wishing her good luck.

She answered, picking up her purse and slinging the strap over her other shoulder crosswise. "Hey Rhae, what's up?"

"Oh thank the bloody Flames, you're not ignoring me!"

"Rhae I don't have time I have to prepare for an audition."

"No, you have one right now, fuck that studio gig, you don't need it, I'm calling because I just heard from Olenna Tyrell, you know on the board of..."

"Rhae what?" she snapped, not interested in hearing him name drop the board of directors. "What are you calling me for?"

Her eldest brother, renowned among the elite of the elite of composers, sputtered out. "I threw your name in for an audition for a seasonal position with the Crownsland Symphony as a section violinist. If you can get to the Dragonpit in the next hour, go through the back, say that Tyrion sent you, Tyrion Lannister you know, he works for..."

She didn't even listen to him before disconnecting, screaming at Missandei, stunned and shaking. "I have an audition with the Crownlands Symphony!"

Her best friend gaped. "What? When?"

"Now!" Without further ado, she ran off, almost knocking over people in her haste. Her heart slammed against her ribs, blood rushing to her feet to encourage their movements. It didn't make sense to her how this happened and yes, she _hated_ that Rhaegar's connections made it happen, but she would focus on her issues with that later. She had to get to the Dragonpit, a commute that could take over an hour on a good day from where she was clear across town in the southernmost section of congested Kings Landing.

It also didn't help she had to use public transportation, since there was no way even the fastest Uber driver could get her and bring her over there in time. She would have to rely on her feet. Flying like the wind, she thought. Or like she was on the back of a dragon. She preferred to imagine that.

She was a queen, off to take over a kingdom, conquering and claiming it as her own. Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, the Dragon Queen.

_If only._

Bag slamming on her hip, her violin pressed tight to her back, she raced through the streets of Kings Landing, nervously jammed her knee up and down on the subway— especially when it stopped several times for no freaking reason other than to 'wait' for whatever— eventually getting out three stops early because the alternative was probably more waiting, she barely had time to process what this actually meant for her.

An audition. Crownlands Symphony. Section musician. Seasonal.

It didn't matter. She had a CV with tons of understudy and substitute roles across Westeros, her teaching, her references, and she had her music. Her degree from Daenys School was just the icing on the cake. Plus, she worked under a different name. Nothing to link her to her family.

It sickened her that this audition came because of Rhaegar, but she'd take it. She wasn't going to ignore it. She would just show them she was more than a Targaryen. She waws Daenerys and she was the best violinist in the Seven Bloody Kingdoms, and she would... _ahhhh!_

Her thoughts disappeared as she turned a corner, moving so quickly she didn't see the busker standing on the corner, a battered guitar in his hands, case open at his feet for coins and whatever else anyone thought to toss in. "Hey!" he shouted, when she knocked hard into him, the guitar neck and frets jamming into her stomach, sending her reeling backwards.

As she fell, all she could think of was her precious violin, in its padded case, and prayed that it would survive, her feet skidding under her and losing balance. She shrieked, collapsing on her side, turning at just the last minute to avoid most of her weight on her violin case, and gasped when the wind went flying right out of her, lungs collapsing in shock. She heaved for breath, eyes wide, leg askew under her and definitely covered in the muck residing on the street from the rainstorm they'd had earlier that day.

 _Oh gods!_ "Why are you standing right there!?" she yelled, scrambling to her feet and hurriedly getting the case off her back, dropping down to check on the violin. She yelled at the busker, because what else could she do but project her anger, frustration, and fears on the closest bystander, and flung the top of the case up, pushing through the velvet protective layers to inspect the shiny rosewood. "You could be anywhere, but you have to be right on the corner? What if someone tripped on your case? Or I don't know, crashed right into you and fell! There's an entire street!"

She was embarrassed too which didn't help matters. The busker glared at her, piercing gray eyes locking to hers. He growled, his accent thick and somewhere not from Kings Landing, she couldn't place it. "Aye, well you need to slow down! 'S your own fault you know, not mine!"

"Gods, gods, please be okay...." She ignored him, checking the violin, and upon realizing it was safe, she slammed the lid down, zipping and covering everything back, shooting him another annoyed snarl. "Carry on sir, I hope your music is worth knocking over stray passersby."

He smirked arrogantly, gray eyes flashing. "Oh I think it is."

The busker was attractive, she briefly noted, dark curls in a bun at the nape of his neck, a short dark beard, and wearing all black, skinny jeans and heavy Docs with a black shirt open over a black tank. She spied some tattoos on his forearms and one peeking out behind his ear, which had earrings up the lobe. His gray eyes stood out sharper in contrast to his pale narrow face because he'd lined them with thick dark eyeliner.

 _Ugh_ , she thought, hating the aesthetic even if he was decent looking. She hated the hipster thing, especially standing as a busker on the street. She huffed, getting to her feet, and pushed by him, shouting over her shoulder. "Thanks a lot!"

"No problem, oi! Couldn't give me a stag for my trouble?"

She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a dragon, tossing it in, sticking her tongue out at him. "Take that."

"Real mature!"

It was not her best comeback, but it would have to do, so she just made another face and ran off, trying to dust mud and street gunk off her pants. When she taught, she wore a simple uniform of black pants, shoes, and white shirt with a black blazer, and other than the muck on her pants and the sweat dripping down her neck from the hot King's Landing afternoon— that busker must have an internal cooling system to stand in the sun i all black— she hoped she didn't look too worse for wear.

The entrance to the building—beside the gorgeous Dragonpit Opera House which sat at the base of the hill where the Dragonpit ruins resided— was hidden down an alley and she burst through the fence blocking it off, running by several people milling around on cell phones and sneaking a smoke. She pulled open the door and ran in, realizing suddenly she'd cut Rhaegar off when he'd been giving her instruction.

_Shit!_

"Auditions are closed," a voice called to the side.

Dany pushed her hair out of her eyes, blinking sweat from the corners. "Um, Dany Storm, I had a walk-on audition for sub violin....I was told to ask for Tyrion Lannister." She knew the Lannister was the only one affiliated with his family's company who did not strictly work in the film and television industry. He'd branched out to more 'sophisticated pursuits' as he joked with interviewers.

The voice came from a young man, with a round face and kind eyes, who consulted his sheet and swallowed hard, shrugging apologetically. "I'm sorry I don't have that name on here..."

"It was a walk-on," she blurted, rummaging in her bag for her music and her CV. She thrust them both to him, begging. "Please, please, I rushed over here, I'm so sorry for my state, but I really, really want this, just give me ten minutes, just ten minutes, please!"

The young man chewed his bottom lip and hesitated, before he nodded quickly. "Um, let me check with him, I think they're finishing with one last person."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Dany took the moment of reprieve to steal a glance in the reflective surface of the edge of a bulletin board, frantically tying back her hair and adjusting her clothing. She cleaned her face, tried to get the rest of the muck off, and took several steadying breaths, hoping her nerves could remain calm. Once she got on the stage they'd fade, she knew they would.

The young man returned, gesturing. "You can go in; you have five minutes to set up and tune."

Dany almost kissed him. "Thank you so much! What's your name?"

"Podrick," he stuttered, flushing when she smacked a kiss to his cheek.

She rushed into the room, finding herself on a practice stage, with several auditorium rows, a group of people seated in the center at a table. She swallowed hard, noting that there were two chairs and only one music stand. She didn't need it; she had her audition memorized. She walked up the steps at the side of the stage and over, setting the case on the seat, beginning to undo it and set up, pulling out her violin, tuning, and running her resin across her bow. Familiar actions that calmed her, ensuring everything on her instrument was ready. She put her heart and soul into this object, it was her life, and right now, she hoped it would return the favor for her.

"We can do this," she whispered to it, going almost so far to kiss it, but refraining when someone loudly cleared their throat. She jerked up, approaching the edge of the stage noting Tyrion Lannister at the table, flanked by two others, she recognized one as Margaery Tyrell— concertmaster and the conductor for the symphony, Oberyn Martell. Tyrion as director was in the center. She bowed her head. "Mr. Lannister ,MS. Tyrell, Mr. Martell, thank you so much for allowing me this opportunity..."

"Dany Storm," Tyrion drawled. he chuckled, reaching for a thermos and pouring something into a glass she thought might have bene red wine. "I received a most urgent call to set aside time after auditions for you. Let's see what you have. You're doing..."

She smiled wide. "Dream of Spring, no. 4, D minor." It was a most difficult violin piece; she was practically an expert on it. Not many did it for auditions as it could be too tricky, but she prided herself on her abilities. It also impressed them.

Oberyn snorted while Margaery giggled at the other side. "That is quite a challenging piece, madame," he drawled, twirling his mustache like a villain in a cartoon. he surveyed her through heavy lidded eyes. "I admit I am intrigued."

"Jon can keep up," Margaery said.

"Jon?" Dany blurted, unsure who that was.

"Jon."

The voice came from the side of the stage. Dany whipped her head, eyes wide, staring at the busker from the street. The one she'd cursed. Slammed into. Shouted at. Threw money at. Stuck her TONGUE out at. She gaped, jaw dropping, unable to stop herself from appearing like a fish.

The busker— Jon— still wore his all-black ensemble, only this time instead of a guitar, he carried a cello. She whipped her head from him to Tyrion, confused. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression this was for..."

"I want all my violinists to be able to adapt to sudden changes and to work in tune with other pieces of my orchestra," Tyrion said, smiling wide. "I always spring another instrument on them. You will perform your piece, with Jon providing cello accompaniment."

"But he doesn't..."

"I can. Dream of Spring?" he asked. He took a seat and smirked at her again, the cello bow poised over the instrument. it was a handsome cello, she briefly noted, shining and clearly expensive. He cocked his head. "You ready?"

"Ready? Was she ever truly ready for such a huge moment in her career? To be blindsided like this? "Um, I..." Dany sank onto the seat glancing nervously at Tyrion and the others. She would have to be. There was no other choice. She'd never done an audition like this, with someone else popping in to play with her, no preparation or discussion. She didn't even know who this man was. How could he possibly just start playing an accompaniment with her?

There was no other choice. If she wanted this— which she did so much she could taste it now— she had to perform with a stranger. She nodded hard, looking at him. Glaring, praying he understood exactly what this meant for her. Hoping like seven hells he didn't hold her debacle outside with him too personally. "Tune?" It was the violin that tuned the entire orchestra, there would be no difference here. If they were going to play, he needed to have his instrument in the same tune as hers. He nodded and she ran the bow across the strings, while he did the same for his cello, the notes singing out for a few seconds until they were harmonious.

Not another word spoken, Tyrion leaning forward and flicking a recording button in front of him, a red light flashing. Dany opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "Begin!"

Her eyes fluttered shut, blanking out from everything. She was just in her room, as a child, playing the piece like she did all the time, because it was her favorite and the one, she knew by heart, the one that had gotten her to where she was today. No busker cello player and aggressive symphony director would stop her.

The soft leather pad on the violin pressed to her cheek, her muscles reacting automatically to the position some found awkward, but she found reassuring, comforting even. Her left hand held the violin's neck, fingertips moving on the strings as she ran the bow across, beginning the piece. It began slow, sad, winter dying off, the world cold, wet, and dreary, and then...

She slammed the bow across, the notes fast, high, frenetic. She held her breath, eyes opening to fix on Jon, who was doing the same, frantically dragging the cello bow over, his hand moving fast up and down the neck, the music filling him the same as her. He knew it as well as she did, never missing a beat, each flat and sharp and note hit perfectly. The music picked up; it was the 'dream of spring', the hopefulness and the rebirth, the happiness, each note now 'smiling' as she referred to it.

The sequence that was the hardest sounded like raindrops; it was associated with showers falling to wash away the dirt and grime of winter, and she quickly tucked the bow away under her other arm, plucking at the strings, Jon's bow ceasing as he did the same. Plink, plink, plink...bow, she thought, returning to playing while the cello continued, and then back again. Plink, plink...bow...

After a few minutes it switched, officially springtime in the dreamer's mind; the joyfulness, the dancing, the new flowers, trees, and animals, and when it ended, it ended high, lilting, and with a final bang, the dream come true, her foot stomping with the final note at the same time Jon's arms fell from the cello, concluding at the exact same time as her.

The room was silent.

All three of the audition board gaped at them both. She was breathing heavily, so into it she had to blink away stars. Sweat damped her temples and the base of her neck. Her arms shook; she never shook after an audition. There was definitely something different there, she thought, stealing a glance at Jon Snow, who was frowning at her. The cello rested against his shoulder; his arms looped lazily around the body of the handsome instrument. He surveyed her through thick lashes. She frowned back; what was he upset about?

The recorder chimed, Tyrion pressing it off, the red light disappearing. He lazily clapped his hands together, while Oberyn smirked behind his fingers and Margaery gaped at her, blue eyes bright and wide. Dany didn't know what any of that meant. She ran her tongue over her teeth and glanced sideways again at Jon, scowling. "You came in late on the third movement," she mumbled.

He cocked his head, arching an eyebrow. "Or did you come in early?" he retorted.

She turned completely to face him. She pointed her bow at him. "I never come early."

Jon clicked his tongue, running it over his upper lip. It was sinful, his eyes darkening, and she shivered, her skin prickling at his look. She swallowed, on edge. "Neither do I," he murmured, getting to his feet. She gulped now, her cheeks flaming, the double entendre clear in his tone. He tapped her nose with the cello bow, condescending, smirking. "Nice playing with you Daenerys Targaryen."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know..." She did all she could to separate herself from Rhaegar. It was why she went by Dany Storm, why she kept her hair dyed platinum blonde instead of its natural silver. There was nothing she could do with her eyes; the contacts she'd tried once to remove the violet from them to blue hurt too much.

Tyrion stood up, gathering his papers. "That was inspired," he commented drolly. He waved his hand. "Congratulations Dany Storm, welcome to the Symphony."

Her jaw dropped. "What?" she gasped.

Oberyn laughed. "You better listen better next time. Margaery's team will be in contact. Farewell dear Dany."

"I...I got it?"

Margaery picked up her folders and a bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "Welcome to the violin section, Ms. Storm." She pointed at Jon, chuckling. "And watch out for this one."

Dany shot a look at Jon again. He was still smiling, holding the cello. He tapped the bow to his temple, like he was saluting her. "Dany, huh? Well see you around Dany." He stepped backwards, the heavy boots on his feet thudding with his movements. He grinned, flash of white against dark beard. "Don't go crashing into anymore buskers, huh?"

She waited a beat, her adrenaline from the performance wearing off, the reality finally setting in. Margaery was halfway out the door; Jon had already disappeared with the cello. She turned, calling out.

"I got the job?"

Margaery pushed open the door, smirking over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow for practice."

Dany, who never used a chair to audition, fell hard onto it, almost collapsing. She laughed, hand rising to cover her forehead, blinking. In awe, she gazed around the practice space, the only one left. She giggled and lifted her violin up, kissing the instrument happily, too stunned to focus on anything else.

_I got it. I'm in the Symphony. The Crownlands Symphony. Me. Dany._

She laughed again, until she realized she was crying, elated, tired. She set her violin in the case, calmly zipping it back up, and gathered her things, walking out of the auditorium, and wandering freely in the halls, staring at all the instruments in their cages, peeking into the various studio rooms, some set up with stands and chairs, others empty and all equipment pushed away. She must have been the only one left.

Eventually she made her way to the door, stepping out and realizing it was late, the sun already going down. She heard the idle sounds of a trumpet, playing a slow, bluesy tune. Her eyes closed, inhaling even the shit atmosphere in King's Landing, and declared right then nothing could get her down.

It was all she'd dream of. Even as sub position, but it was something. She was in the door. That's all that mattered. One day she might have Margaery Tyrell's spot as concertmaster. She just had to put in her dues, just keep showing up early and staying late, volunteering, doing whatever they needed and... _ahhh!_

Once again, turning the corner, she almost stepped straight into a busker only this time a trumpet player, and when she knelt down to pick up the coins that had fallen out of a flat cap set on the cobblestone, she heard a low chuckle, and a heavy Northern accent, her blood going cold.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"I'm sorry I..." She whipped up, glaring. She shouted. "YOU!"

Jon chuckled, leaning against the brick wall, a foot propped up behind him, his other stretched out, and a trumpet loose in his fingers. "Me." He rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "You want a piece of my gig here or what? That why you keep stepping into my payment?"

She glanced at the cap, noting there were only a few stags; he had way more as a guitar player. She looked up and straightened. "Maybe you should stick to strings then Mr..."

"Snow," Jon said, lifting the trumpet up. He blew into it, fingers fast on the keys, the tune upbeat, jazzy. Someone walking by tossed in a dragon coin. He finished the snippet of a song she thought she might have recognized as a twist on a famous Essosi opera aria, and had gathered a few other admirers, including, she noted, some young women who giggled behind their hands and ducked their heads coquettishly, trying to catch his attention.

It was the music that held her attraction— although he did look good standing there in his all-black attire, hair pulled from his face, his strong forearms on display. She spied some tattoos peeking out from under the rolled cuffs and one on his inner wrist, a series of musical notes on a scale. She frowned, wishing she could see it closer, wondering what song held such importance to him he wanted it inked to his skin permanently. Or maybe, was in his mind during a drunken moment and now was inked permanently. Could be anything.

He finished the song, the crowd gathered applauding. He swept the trumpet aside and bowed, moving towards the case while people dropped coins and other things into the flat cap. Several of the women dropped phone numbers. Dany remained standing, waiting for them to disperse and Jon to collect the money. "Do they not pay you enough?" she asked.

He chuckled, unfolding the bills and darting a glance upwards through his dark curls. "They do. This is for something else." He pocketed the money and shoved the cap into the side of the padded trumpet case. He quickly cleaned out the trumpet, wiping down the gleaming brass, dragging the cloth through the valves to dry it, and set it into the velvet lining.

Dany waited and caught his attention when he stood, slinging the case over his shoulder. "Are you first cello?" she asked, wanting more information. He was the only one she knew now from the symphony, she wanted to get as much information as possible. Especially if they were to play together.

He nodded. "Aye."

"But you also play guitar and trumpet?"

"I play a lot of instruments."

"Yeah, so does everyone," she scoffed. They all said that. Viola players claimed they could play violin and vice versa. Guitar players claimed they were also proficient in banjo and ukulele sometimes. Anything for the resume. She rolled her eyes. "There's a difference in maybe playing something and being proficient in it."

Jon eyed her sideways, chuckling. "Alright, I'm proficient in a lot of instruments. And you?"

"Four."

"Let me guess."

She grinned. "Go ahead." He'd never guess.

Jon ticked off his fingers. "Violin."

"Duh."

"Guitar."

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes."

They turned a corner; she had no idea where he was going, somehow, she was stuck to him like a magnet, unable to tear away. He patted his pockets, searching for something, and removed a pack of cigarettes. He smiled sheepishly. "Bad habit."

"Terrible habit, especially for someone who plays a brass or wind instrument," she chided.

He lit the cigarette, pocketing the lighter with a flick of his fingers. She spied a wolf etched into the side of the silver Zippo. He paused at a corner, studying her a moment. She shifted, oddly uncomfortable with the x-ray-like gaze. His irises were gray, peculiar color. They shimmered, reminding her of the ash on the cigarette or else storm clouds. He blew a stream of smoke out to the side, gesturing with the cigarette. "Piano."

She grit her teeth. Eyebrow quirked, she shrugged. "Alright. Yes."

"I've got three. How many more guesses do I get?"

"One more, I told you I play four."

Jon kept his gaze on her, once again giving her the x-ray once over. He narrowed his eyes and smiled wide. "Harp."

Her mouth dropped. _What...how...WHAT!?_ "You cheated!" she exclaimed, at the same time he burst out laughing. He dodged her fist, which she flung out to smack at his shoulder, this perfect stranger, but she was positive he deserved it. First for chastising her when she completely accidentally stepped into him, then for his comments after her incredible audition, and now well, for whatever was happening with this. She glared at him, simultaneously impressed he got them right and also annoyed.

Now he laughed. "How did I cheat? I didn't know you until like three hours ago."

"But you did," she realized. He knew her real name. Could have been a good guess, but she tried very hard to keep the lives separate. So how did he know?

They were still walking. She realized they were approaching a nondescript old building, stone and worn, with moss growing on the side from the healthy amount of humidity King's Landing endured. There was a large olive tree out front, providing shade over a fountain of a series of wolves chasing each other. They stopped near the entrance to the small courtyard, his fingers idly running down the strap of his trumpet case, his cigarette almost worn down to the filter.

He flicked off some ash, drew in a last pull of it, and stubbed it out, tossing it into a trash can. He smiled again, but it didn't meet his eyes. He tapped her case. "Violin, easy." He gestured to her fingers. "You have piano hands, calluses on your wrists, your black and white outfit, probably what, teacher too?" She scowled, refusing to acknowledge he was right. He carried on. "Guitar because that was actually just a guess."

"And harp? How'd you guess that?" she demanded.

Jon blinked, shrugging. "You're a Targaryen."

Her jaw set. "Yes," she ground out. She arched her brows, silver bouncing up to her hairline. "Which I would kindly request you keep to yourself."

"You should probably hide your eye color then."

"I could just be Lyseni or Valyrian otherwise."

"You have your mother's face," he said. He continued, her shoulders drawing back at that, surprised. He smiled again. "And Rhaegar Targaryen was one of my first music teachers. I know a Targaryen and I know he has a little sister and well, Targaryens are the only harp players that actually make it a worthy instrument to learn." He grinned wider. "I'll give you a hint. One of the instruments I do not know how to play is harp."

 _Rhaegar's student? Her mother? Harp? What?_ There were questions swirling around in her mind, before she could ask him to clarify. He walked by her and to the fountain, dropping some of the coins in it and then depositing his earnings into a box near the entrance to the building. He tipped his fingers to his temple, saluting her. "See you around Daenerys Targaryen. Or Dany Storm. Which do you want me to call you?"

"Dany," she whispered, unsure what to make of him.

He nodded, smiling. "Dany." He turned, walking off and reached into his pocket, removing a harmonica, lifting it to his lips and humming off on it as he wandered away, out of sight.

Dany stood still. She was exhausted from the interaction with Jon Snow. Desperate to get home and tell Missy in person what had happened. She figured Rhaegar already knew, which meant Viserys probably knew, so she'd wait on their calls. Maybe she'd answer them.

Jon Snow.

She looked sideways at the little stone building, with its pretty wolf fountain, and stepped through the open gate, walking over to a plaque set on the wall around the fountain, rubbing her thumb over tarnished bronze. 'All Proceeds to Queen Alysanne's Children’s Hospital.' She frowned and glanced again to the building, stepping closer now to see the sign near the door, her tongue running over her teeth, further intrigued.

'Stark Garden for Old Gods Worshippers, Godswood Open and Welcome to All.'

Dany didn't knock on the door or enter; if it was a godswood it was sacred and reserved for prayer and reflection, particularly for those who followed the Old Gods. Which she didn't know of many, they were mostly Northerners. She eased backwards and returned to the street. Her phone burned in her pocket and she drew it out, searching quickly. The page came up at the top of the Searcheros results, for the Stark Garden in King's Landing. An endowment from Lady Lyanna Stark's memorial fund, for Northerners who lived in the capital and the South, to go and worship as they saw fit. It was also part of a series of children's charities, predominantly funds to provide arts and music education to those less fortunate.

A line in particular caught her attention. 'The fund is currently chaired by Lady Lyanna's only son, Jon Snow.'

"Curious," Dany murmured. She pocketed her phone and jogged off towards the subway, needing to get home. Jon Snow was definitely interesting, but he was a distraction at the moment. Her goal was to move from being a substitute performer to a permanent player, and eventually— Concertmaster. Margaery would have to move on one day and she would be waiting.

Jon Snow meant nothing to her, just an annoying colleague at this point.

* * *

Guitar, cello, trumpet, violin, viola, drums, and flute.

So far Dany discovered Jon Snow was proficient in seven instruments, beating her four, not that it was a competition. Although she had requested a friend— Daario who played drums in a shitty Essosi band that somehow kept topping charts— teach her drums and bass, which he knew a bit of. She kept trying to figure out what Jon actually _did_ with the Symphony. He was first cello most of the time, but sometimes she would show up to practice and he would be on trumpet. One day he was in the violin section with them. Another he was percussion.

It annoyed her, how he floated like that, because how could he properly learn all the pieces?

Dany still taught her annoying students— the Baratheons— plus she'd managed to keep a couple others who were happy to change their schedules so she could attend practices. As a sub she needed to be ready at a moment's notice. She loved it, even if she might not be on stage just yet, but just _being there_. Learning the pieces, listening to Margaery direct them as the first chair violin, having Oberyn the charming conductor refer to her as "his silver dragon."

She thought it might have been the Rhaegar connection— Oberyn would know even if the others might not— except he'd only indicated he gave her the nickname because of the dragon stickers on her violin's plastic casing, when she'd opened it up one day to begin tuning. She also had three small dragons tattooed on her inner wrist, which might have also given her away, as it was her left wrist— she could see them clearly when she played, holding up her violin. It represented her family's history, their crest, but it was also what she wanted to channel in her music. A beautiful, dangerous melody, just like a dragon's song.

Four weeks after receiving her orders to report, as part of the symphony, Dany discovered the _eighth_ instrument, walking into one of the scheduled practice rooms to see Jon tuning up a clarinet. He was the only one there, a few instrument cases scattered near him. She hoped she hadn't spotted the _ninth_ one, in the shape of a tuba. She glanced around the room, knowing she was early, but instantly suspicious. Hazing had been minimal, but she knew it existed, especially in the cutthroat world of professional orchestra. "Is this the right room for practice?"

"Aye," Jon said, holding the clarinet to his lips. He smiled around the reed; voice muffled. "This is eight. I also play bass clarinet, so nine."

She rolled her eyes. "That shouldn't count, it's the exact same instrument, just bigger."

"There's an extra key."

"Big deal." She took a seat and worked on tuning her violin, while he played a rapid-finger movement she recognized as a famous pop song, sped up considerably. She frowned over at him, lowering her instrument and pointing with the bow. "Do you make those arrangements yourself?"

He nodded, finishing up with the clarinet. He put it away, cleaning carefully she noted, before he grabbed his cello. He sat down, swiveling the instrument in front of him, easily looping his arms around it and bow poised, fingers on the frets. "You want to try?"

"Try what?" She didn't wait for him, launching into a fast-paced folk song, her violin turning into a fiddle, foot tapping in time. He jumped in midway, recognizing the song, the two of them not missing a beat. Her heart fluttered, like it had during her audition, which then she attributed to nerves. Now she didn't know what to call it. The music from both instruments filled the room, echoing off the acoustics, the sloping walls and rounded ceiling, paneling allowing for the notes to sing, to marry together in a perfect harmony.

The happy jig died away, the cello’s melancholic tones taking over. She spied Jon’s face from the corner of her eye, pausing to take it in, his brow furrowed, and eyes closed, the sad pain from the haunting song— _Ode to the Wolf Queen_ , composer unknown—flickering through his sharp features. Music was to be felt in the soul, which he did, evidenced in the intensity with which he threw himself into every performance.

Dany joined in, unfamiliar with it, but picking up the notes here and there, until they both ended, the song fading with the final tug of his bow over the strings. She lowered her violin, studying him again. The emotion disappeared; his face schooled to resemble a blank slate. He lifted a dark eyebrow, challenging. “You’re not bad.”

She kissed her teeth, sucking an annoyed breath. “I’m the best, it’s why I’m here.”

“You still need to work.”

“I am,” she snapped. She lifted her violin again, smirking. “You might be good at what you do Snow, but I’m better.”

Jon cocked his head, gray eyes darkening sooty black. He turned the chair a bit, so he was directly facing her and began to play, his eyebrows lifting, challenging.

He was playing a song called _Bad Guy._

The symbolism, the meaning, nothing lost on her, she crooked her violin, not blinking, bow chopping on the strings, fingers pressing hard. The lyrics hummed in her mind, the instrumental version switching it up, jauntier, warning. I’m a bad guy, she kept repeating in her head, her lip curving up, Jon challenging her with each angry stroke.

It had been weeks of this back and forth, this rising anger and animosity. All because she bumped into him outside? Because she had to fight to get here and wanted more than she’d gotten? He clearly had it made, popping from seat to seat, obviously a favorite, a permanent member of the group. What did he have against her?

_So you're a tough guy, like it really rough guy, just can't get enough guy, chest always so puffed guy, I'm that bad type…_

As that song died off, he dove straight into Tupac, to her shock, her mouth dropping momentarily when she recognized the hard charging beat in the cello, the slapping hollow sound his palm made with each strike on the cello’s body, her violin picking it up easily. He was lucky she knew the song, she thought briefly, as the rap transitioned to a hip-hop, moved to a song from a cartoon classic.

_Tale as old as time...song as old as rhyme…_

_As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I take a look at my life and realize there's nothin' left…_

_Yesterday...love was such an easy game to play...now I need a place to hide away, Oh, I believe in yesterday…_

_Oh, crazy, for thinking that my love could hold you, I'm crazy for trying, and crazy for crying…_

Only to end, back where it began, to the forlorn, haunting crescendo of _Ode to the Wolf Queen._

Sweat beaded along her brow and while she had not been singing, she was panting, her chest straining from the harsh breathing she’d been doing going from high to low and brain fuzzy in jumping from song to song, having to keep on her toes to follow his lead and maintaining the harmony needed between the two instruments. It was just a jam session, she reminded herself, locking eyes with him.

He was breathing heavily too, fingers trembling around his cello bow.

Dany opened her mouth, she planned to say something snarky, like “you were too slow”, but she couldn’t form words. Her throat was parched, her palms damp, and no performance had ever given her such a rush, blood surging in her veins, and fuck it if she didn’t feel like she’d...well shit, it felt like she’d just had one of the hardest most intense orgasms of her entire life. She swallowed, ducking her head, lips twitching. “Um…”

_Clap, clap, clap._

They jerked their heads in unison, at the top of the stairs in the practice room, where Tyrion stood, his phone in his hand. “Very, very, very good,” he drawled. He took each step slowly, speaking loudly, even if there was no need in the room. “That was quite impressive Mr. Snow, Ms. Tar...Ms. Storm.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth at Tyrion’s almost misstep. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“I was here for practice, came to observe, but see that I got a glimpse at something even more special.” Tyrion cocked his head, waving his phone between the both of them, his bottle-green eyes shrewd, calculating. “There’s something here.”

Dany’s heart leaped in her throat. “Excuse me,” she began, to head him off that there was _nothing_ between them, because she was a _professional_ , but Jon spoke first, placing his cello back in its case, kneeling on the floor.

“Forget it Tyrion. She’s a substitute and I’m your Jon-of-All-Trades as it were.” He looked up, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, an apologetic look in her direction. She frowned. He shrugged again. “It’s nothing, just a practice session. Getting the kinks out.”

“That didn’t look like kinks to me.”

She played dumb. Grateful for Jon’s attempts to diffuse the situation. “Thank you, Mr. Lannister, but it was just for fun. That’s all. He’s right.” Her heart cramped, even though she knew that it was the truth, firing back at Jon, biting. “I’m _just_ a substitute.”

His upper lip twitched, the only indicator he acknowledged her reference to his statement. His _opinion_ meant nothing to her. They would have to work together, fine. She didn't have to like him, nor would she. Even if he was an amazing cello player and gave his earnings from random busking around King's Landing to children’s' charities.

Tyrion smiled, saying nothing, as she gathered her things, moving towards her spot in the orchestra lineup— she was supposed to be in for one of the fifth violins that day. He eventually nodded to Jon, who had stowed away his cello. "What are you on today?"

Dany glanced up as she fussed with her sheet music. Jon was moving towards another case. She dropped some of the music, sheets whispering together on their fall to the floor. "Sax!?"

"Make that ten." His snark was enough to make her sick. He removed the bright brass instrument, slinging the strap over his neck. More people began to join them, greeting hello and taking out instruments, preparing for the practice session. Dany glared over top her music, watching Jon affix the reed to his mouthpiece. She didn't know why she was fuming when he leaned forward, fingers flying on the sax, its happy, brassy tone exploding into the assortment of tuning strings and other woodwinds.

A couple people applauded, and he swept into a bow, still grinning at her. Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Alright Jon, enough."

Oberyn waltzed in, sunglasses on, his conductor baton aloft. "My children!" he exclaimed. "Your father is here!"

"Gross Oberyn," Margaery commented.

He pointed his baton straight to Jon. "My favorite son! Sax today is it? Brilliant. Tomorrow you will be on the organ, for I have had an epiphany and we will perform the Night King's march for our winter concert."

"Eleven!" Dany blurted. _Eleven bloody instruments._

Jon winked at her. "That's not even all of them."

Behind her, one of the other cellos, Satin, leaned in, chuckling. "Do you have a bet going with him on how many he plays? Don't bother. He'll learn more."

She silently fumed, unsure why it annoyed her so much, and tried not to let it bother her, especially when they began to play and Tyrion couldn't stop glancing her direction, a smile still flirting on his lips. She really didn't try to let it bother her when he sent the same looks in Jon's direction and then began to play on his phone.

 _It's nothing_ , she told herself, focusing on the music, the _classical_ music. The _important_ work.

Tyrion might know who she was, she had to stop thinking that he was going to out her to everyone. Or that it even mattered. Because it didn’t, she tried to tell herself, her stupid family's fame had _nothing_ to do with her. She knew that.

Now if only everyone else did too.

While everyone tuned around her, she heard the mournful low notes of the sax, and chanced her eyes to Jon, who had his locked on hers, cheeks puffing out as he blew into the instrument. He removed the mouthpiece, licked his lips, and then latched back on again. But not before his tongue darted back out, wetting the reed again.

She flushed, squirming unconsciously.

Satin poked her with his bow. "You alright Dany? You're looking flushed."

"Fine," she snapped, touching her bow to her instrument. She ran it over, hitting a high note all wrong, a shrill shriek breaking everyone's concentration and a chorus of groans and 'hey!' filling. Margaery shot her an annoyed glance. She flushed deeper, mumbling. "Sorry."

And refused to look at Jon Snow the entire practice.

* * *

"Today we will work on our scales," Dany announced, opening the book open on the piano in front of Shireen Baratheon, who had been fussing with her phone. She tapped her fingers on the ivory keys, the piano clanging annoyingly. "Hey, look up. Class is starting."

Shireen pinked. "Sorry, but, um...my friend sent me this...is this you Ms. Storm?"

"Is what me?"

The teenager handed her the phone, which Dany hated to see was a better model and version than hers— starving musician that she was— a clip from a social media app playing on a loop. She hit the button to open the video to the whole screen, turning it sideways, and scowled as the familiar room in the concert hall came into view. It was one of the practice rooms, the video taken from atop the steps looking down. It had the fuzziness of an unprofessional videographer but was queued in the Crownlands Symphony official account.

The title at the bottom said 'A Song of Ice and Fire— The Dragon & The Wolf Duet'

Her lips separated in a gasp, recognizing it as her and Jon's impromptu point-counterpoint concert the week before. Shireen punched the play button and before she could process, the video began, the sounds of the violin and cello dueling it out. The sound quality was impressive, probably adjusted before the video published, edges cleaned up slightly and the camera zooming in and cutting back and forth. Someone had doctored it but made sure it was clear that it was an amateur video.

The reasoning became clear to her when it ended, the last shot the two of them locking eyes, bows lowered, breathing deep— panting in actuality. It faded to black, the songs they'd played appearing in a row, and then a notice saying to visit the Symphony to see more of the talented performers.

It was a marketing ploy.

"How," she began, but Shireen cut her off, squealing.

"I had no idea you were so good! I mean, of course I knew, but wow! You played one of my _favorite_ songs! And who is that really cute guy with the cello? I didn’t' know that cello players could be so cute!" She flushed. Her little outburst surprised Dany; Shireen was always so quiet and sullen. Now she was truly a teenage girl. She giggled again, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "Sorry, but...wow! It was so good! who is that guy?"

"Um..."

The video had published only two hours ago, and she hadn't checked her phone since. She did so now, eyes wide at the hundreds of messages coming in from her brothers and friends. Shireen sighed, fingers folding under her chin, eyes dreamy. "I would love to play piano like you play the violin. Maybe even meet a cute guy." Her cheeks darkened further. "I mean...are you dating him? That guy? It looked like you wanted to kiss."

 _Bloody seven hells_. Dany closed her eyes tight, attempting to rein in the chaos. "Um, well Shireen, I...his name is Jon Snow, he's a cello player and...a coworker is all. That's all." She set her phone in her pocket. She'd have to deal with everything after the lesson. She tapped the book. "Scales, let's go."

The video had sent the lesson off the rails; all Shireen wanted to talk about was Jon and whether Dany was dating him, if she could teach her pop songs on the piano, if she could play violin for her. She ended up just ending the lesson early so Shireen could keep watching the video over and over again.

When she left, she ignored Rhaegar's calls, Missandei the first one up.

"Dany you're famous!" her best friend squealed.

"I am not!"

"It's gone viral! There's thousands of views, it keeps going up every minute! People want to know who the sexy silver dragon and the dark wolf happen to be!"

Dany managed to get Missandei off her back, ignored Rhaegar's call _again_ , and hurried from Shireen's house to the Symphony. She entered the back door, realizing she didn't even have her violin with her since she hadn't been called in today to practice, but found it did not matter. She was applauded down the halls, flushing deep in embarrassment. "It's nothing," she muttered, making her way to Margaery Tyrell's office.

The rose of the orchestra was at her desk, the video playing on her computer when she entered. She smiled over at her. "Well, well, well, our Silver Dragon."

"I had no idea; I don’t know who did that...I ..." Dany began to stammer. She didn't know if she should apologize or thank her or what. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. "It was just fun, just like...a jam session?" It sounded weird saying that out loud. Classical musicians did not have jam sessions. Rock bands did and Dany most certainly was not in a rock band.

Margaery laughed. "Oh come on Daenerys, I'm not mad. That' son the official website. Do you know what this will do for our attendance numbers? Everyone wants to know who you are and who Jon is of course too. No, we're going to use this. That's why Tyrion filmed it and posted it."

Tyrion!?

Of course....he was there! Dany's mouth fell again, eyes widening. "Tyrion did this?"

"You and Jon have something that some musicians, even the most famous in all genres, can never find. We're going to tap that."

"Um, what's that?"

Margaery stood and walked over to her, tapping her nose with the tip of her folder, smirking, and chirped:

"Chemistry."


End file.
